On Wednesday, I woke up at my usual hour of oh-god-no, looked at the husband and said, “I’m not going to work today.”
“And why not?” he asked, which was a totally fair question.
“Don’t wanna.” And I flounced downstairs to call in for a mental health day. I spent the next few minutes eagerly thinking of the napping I could do and the tv I could watch that I never get a chance to.
And then the child came downstairs, fell apart over absolutely nothing, and when I hugged him to soothe his fragile five year old soul, I felt his forehead.
Oh. THAT was why I wasn’t going to go to school. BECAUSE I’M PSYCHIC.
Needless to say, I never got that nap and the tv was tuned to ridiculous things like Sophia the First and Gravity Falls.
One day out, no big deal, but when his fever hadn’t gone down by 4 and he had spent the entire day laying on the couch, not even jumping around or whining, I decided to keep him home on Thursday, too.
Two days out, ok, sure, it happens. His fever was lower and he was more entergetic, but was still hanging out at 99 degrees and just didn’t look right to me. I figured he’d been good to go on Friday, and I shared that feeling with the husband. Although I also said I wasn’t entirely comfortable sending him Friday. I just..wasn’t.
Brandus rolled his eyes and said, “He’ll be FINE,” and I figured he was right, so I put my unease to the side and went to bed.
Friday, I got up, got dressed, got a cranky sounding good morning grunt from the husband, and then took Voldemort’s temperature. Which was 100.4.
Brandus scoffed. Brandus rolled his eyes. Brandus told me I was being ridiculous and Voldemort would be FINE and he barely had a fever and GEEZUS SERIOUSLY YOU’RE STAYING HOME WITH HIM AGAIN GOD.
I find it a sign of my own personal maturity that at no point did I videotape myself doing the TOLD YOU SO song and dance and emailing it to him after the doctor told me that Voldemort had an upper respiratory infection topped with a double dose of conjunctivitis.